quietly now because you’re at work and a hush of silence is best bestowed underneath the fold the cicacas in the hot morning sky are matching the rining in your ears buzz for buzz which is just one last reminder of last night’s gig

BECAUSE ALL YOU CAN THINK OF IS THE LOUD AND INSANE THRASSHING AND THE SWEAT AND CRUSH AND PUSH OF BODIES IN THE PIT AND THE RINGING IN YOUR EARS IS SO LOUD IT’S LIKE A SWARM YOU CAN’T THINK STRAIGHT YOU WALK ALL THE WAY HOME WITH L AND S ALL YOU CAN THINK OF IS SHOUTING AND JUMPING UP AND DOWN ON THE SPOT JERKY RHYTHMS YOU JUST WANT TO SCREAM AND YELL AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS TO FEEL OTHER BODIES LIKE THAT WAS AMAZING SCREAMING JABBING THE AIR THE LEAD SINGER SO BIG SO HAIRY TOUGH AS NAILS IN A LEATHER VEST AND RED JOCKSTRAP AND WHEN HE TOOK HIS VEST OFF AND SCREAMED AT THTE CROWD AND PULLED ANOTHER BIG HAIRY FAN TO HIS CHEST AND THE GUITARIST WORE A RED LYCRA JUMPSUIT THE DRUMMER A STRIPY SINGLET AND THE BASSPLAYER HAD TINY CUTOFF JEAN SHORTS IT WAS GAY GAY GAY PUNK PUNK AND IN MANACLE THE GAY LEATHER BAR IN THE BASEMENT OF OXFORD ST. THE FEEDBACK WAS SO LOUD I JERKED EVERY TIME RECKLESS RECKLESS RECKLESS ALL I WANT TO DO IS LISTEN TO PUNK MUSIC AND SWEAT AND JIVE I DON’T EVEN WANT THE MUSIC TO MAKE SENSE I JSUT WANT LOUD LOUD MESS AND NOISE PJ HARVEY NO LOUDER PATTI SMITH AND SLEATER KINNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY

Editorial notes:
1) I wrote this way back in January, after seeing Limpwrist play at Manacle, and although it’s not really the same hot hot morning, after the incessant rain one might be forgiven for feeling a similar sense of relief at today’s sunshine.

2) I think it’s a pretty accurate description of the moment when I first ‘got’ punk, ie, not that long ago.

3) So, uh, I didn’t really go to a gig last night, but to the sly, and it was nice to hang out with old friends and familiars and new friends, and be stupid and not care about work the next day. It is such a good feeling to be in the company of people who I am really excited about without having to turn around and cough up a lung every 5 minutes.

I have to take a moment to pay respects to Sandy Toggs, who is a commensurate performer in every way, and her shows last night were truly inspiring. I could only gaze upwards in rapture. Imagine a gamine drag queen in little shorts and a lumberjacket with a fishing rod lip synching to johnny cash’s cover of one love! So much pathos, heartbreak, honesty, meaning conveyed in a look, a gesture, of a glamour queen in fishing gear. No wonder cinema studies is always falling over itself about ‘the gaze’. When the stagecraft is this good, you feel yourself drawn up into the spectacle, because it just means so goddamn much.

Lee Harrington also did good on stage. It’s supremely gratifying to see a leather daddy in his civvies camping it up to a bedazzling lounge cover of Wonderwall (Mike Flowers’ Pops has done a lounge cover, but this had more flair, must have been Richard Cheese). Smooth moves, fey wiggles and sharp, practiced poses. It was like watching your Daddy get drunk and ponce around in front of the mirror. Thrilling and strangely edifying; one day when I grow up I want to be just like you.

Ok, one more thing: I just finished reading The Stars My Destination, by Alfred Bester today. If there’s one thing that my recent obsession with Firefly slash has kindled, it’s a newfound fascination with sci fi, or anything involving spaceships, explosions, the oft-spluttered phrase “But that’s impossible!” and diabolical fantasy worlds. It’s a really great book, and many others think so, especially because it seems to have all the hallmarks of the cyberpunk novels of the 80’s and 90’s, except it was written in the 50’s. Whoa dude, like, timewarp!